


Points Of View

by Rigel99



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 16:22:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11421681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rigel99/pseuds/Rigel99
Summary: The Agents and their Quartermaster. At it again.





	Points Of View

**Author's Note:**

> If you've been following my 100 word drabbles over at 00Q Moments, this you will have seen already. Just popping them into one space.

It requires a certain state of mind to effectively convey mood via a photograph - a snapshot taken in which you hope to encapsulate how much you wish the recipient was there with you; that it was his hand, not yours, shadowing lightly across your chest, only barely brushing the nipple, its nerve bundles electrifying your senses in anticipation of what’s to come.

The contents of the lacy material wrapped around hips, barely transparent, only you know how to unwrap the gift within, so I will wait. I won’t touch; won’t tease any more than this.

I will wait.

For you.

*******

_Quid pro quo,_

_Q. I will touch;_

_I will tease. You_

_think I make_

_you crazy by not_

_following your_

_orders?_

 

_Close your eyes._

 

_And when you open_

_them again, it will_

_be my hand,_

_unwrapping the_

_gift that waits._

*******

I close my eyes, hoping the promise of your message isn’t empty. I guided you earlier that day as I always do, unerringly to a successful mission. I hope you will return the favour by guiding my dreams.

I’m not disappointed.

The light brush against my thigh feels so real, but I’m asleep…

Aren’t I?

My eyes open slowly, but billowing curtains are my only bedfellow. I raise myself on elbows to gaze at the London vista from your top floor apartment.

I find my hand running down my thigh, trying to fill the space of your ghost-dreamed touch.

My thigh is cool. My hand, hot.

The heat from my fingertip feels no less intense than the glow around the edge of the hole left by a bullet in a perforated target on the test range.

God… I can’t even begin to put into words how much I need…

“Q.”

“James…” I hear myself mutter. Surely I’m still dreaming. Darkness does that to my mind. Blurs my senses, frees me from my immersive reality.

Wet heat against the inside of my right knee.

“I’ve missed you.”

I won’t open my eyes. I can’t bear if this is a dream…

“Q.”

The tone is gruffer, laced with a purpose cast to define and complete my pleasure. My hand moves across my stomach now, and down to take hold my arousal’s response to the sound of your voice in my dreams.

Still, I do not open my eyes. I’m dreaming.

Aren’t I?

My hand moves. My back curves, arching from neck to base while I imagine your fingertips trailing gently over every bump.

“Q.”

My hand quickens, the feel of lace against oversensitive skin intensifying the sensation.

You hover above me, behind still closed eyes. You reach out.

You touch.

* * *

 The curtains are billowing over him, light and dark drifting across his skin like the shifting sands of the wind-swept desert I once crossed during training in my pre-00 days.

He’s irresistible when he’s like this, hovering between wake and sleep. He’s wearing my gift. Such a small thing.

A gift for a gift.

I’ve been sitting quietly in the shadows, watching. Enthralled.

I have no choice but to touch. Crawling forward, I place my hand on his neck, head tipped back over the edge of our bed.

“Q,” I whisper.

His hand quickens its movements in answer.

I’m not sure where his dreams are taking him when he rolls onto his front, mumbling my name through the thickening mist of sleep.

I’m exhausted, but not so spent I can’t take the time to lull him deeper.

He’s the reason I’m here after all.

No doubt, when he wakes first, as he usually does, he will rouse and arouse me to their echo.

The thought makes me smile. A rare thing. And only ever for him.

A kiss on his brow, a hand on his chest. I succumb to shared dreams, led by the rhythm of his heart.

* * *

 I ache.

That said, I’ve slept like the dead. Endless, dreamless. The darkness was so deep, so endless you weren’t there. I had no sense of you. I drowned in the black and didn’t look for you because I knew you were right beside me, breathing, alive, mine.

But I wake now, wrapped in the warmth of the man who admonishes me for not appreciating his toys in the same breath I feel his love for me with every single exhaled word.

Your fingers sink into my skin.

Q.

You have no equal.

But you equal every moment I cherish.

The curtains still gently billow.

The sounds of a constant city rumble distantly beneath. I watch clouds drift through half-closed eyes, your warmth pressed against my side, one hand where the gun of shoulder holster would rest, the arch of your foot soft against the ankle where my knife would nest concealed.

I slow my breathing, preparing for your rousing move. You do not disappoint, rolling your weight onto me, pressing me into the mattress.

You sigh, warm breath against my shoulder. I decide to feign sleep.

I know how much you enjoy waking me on your own terms.

The softness of your breath on the dip beneath my throat is soon followed by dry, warm lips. Again, I’m reminded of the desert - a place a soul could become easily lost, devoured by its heat and barren wastelands.

But wasteland you are not.

You, are an oasis. The sanctuary to which I now return from every mission…

You slide down my chest, allow your tongue to draw lines across skin, the responding tingle leaving me at your mercy.

I feel your smile against my stomach. I’m so completely aroused, the tip of my hardness brushes your lightly stubbled jaw.

* * *

 I inhale deeply.

Capturing our mingled scents only serves to heighten my senses. The thirst I didn’t realise I had was instantly satisfied when I plunged my mouth down with slow, sensual purpose.

After every mission from which you return, it becomes my mission to remind you why.

Your hand in my hair anchors me in the now, you’re edging towards wakefulness, the ripple of your hips upwards I expect and welcome, taking you deeper, making you forget the woman you allowed seduce you two nights before…

Yet…

Here you are. In my bed. Our bed. Mine for the taking.

* * *

  _I’m close._

I can feel it though the flexing of your stomach, the tensing of your fingers in my hair…

_Jesus Fucking Christ, I’m not sure I’ve felt this strung out since I defected from Moscow. I hate this fucking city… Crowded, suffocating. Even at waking dawn._

“Q. Please. Don’t stop…”

_I’m nearly at his flat. I almost put my fist through the glass partition when the taxi driver stopped at a traffic light…_

You know I won’t, James. I won’t stop until the mission is complete…

_Finally. It feels like a lifetime ago since I parachuted from that plane…_

You never know what you were born to do until you’re forced into the corner of no escape that forces you to dig past your soul into the darkness and pull that shit out of its shadow.

I literally cannot believe this shit. Exhausted. I should’ve taken the stairs.

Fucking shit technology. The elevator up to your flat has stalled.

Like that’s going to stop me.

I haul my Russki ass through the exit in the roof.

It’s only nine floors. I know what’s waiting.

Mein kvartirmeyster is worth every blister and burn and breath of effort in his name.

* * *

  _James…_

You’re satiated. And sleeping.

This, I give willingly.

You’re home.

The knock on the door is a surprise. So early and unexpected. It must be an emergency that requires circumventing the regular channels of communication.

I roll out of bed and leave you to your rest, hoping your services are not needed so soon after your return from Croatia.

I sigh as I pull on my robe and stroll towards the door, prepared for the worst this world of spies and lies can throw my way.

I’m still achingly hard. But who the fuck cares?

I unlock the door.

_Alec._

_Q._

_This is a breach of our agreement._

_Yes. But I don’t care…_

You’re on me before I have time to protest further. A hot tongue plunges into my mouth. I can taste ozone, ash, earth and vodka. My world tilts off its axis. I try to regain some balance and control in the face of your onslaught.

You break the kiss to pick me up and carry me to the kitchen.

 _James…_ I gasp.

_So? If he complains I’ll fucking shoot him._

You dump me on the table, reaching for a bottle of oil while unbuttoning your combats.

You’re angry.

Whether at me, the mission’s failure or the world in general, it’s difficult to tell.

Part of me hopes James will sleep through this, but you’re grunting with the pleasure of a wolf that’s had his first kill in days.

Your entire physical and mental focus is on your prey.

Me.

So I grip the edges of the table, knuckles white, sharper than the thrust of your unrelenting hips between my thighs.

I say nothing when I see James approach from behind. In the last moment, you swing your arm, hoping to connect with his jaw no doubt.

On a typical day, you would be fairly evenly matched.

But James is rested. You are on the verge of experiencing a crashing post-mission comedown.

And you are in breach of our agreement.

You’re fast, but James is faster.

He blocks the swing with his forearm and wrestles your arms into a lock hold behind your back.

You are powerless.

And your cock is still in my arse.

_Fucking Russian prick._

“We talked about this, Alec. We are agreed 24 hours post mission. Minimum.”

To your credit, you back away and tip your head back onto James’ shoulder.

Submission.

I sit up and retrieve the underwear you so unceremoniously tore from my body before plunging into me.

You’re still locked in James’ hold, looking suitably chastised, but I don’t spare you an inch, nor a modicum of sympathy.

You’re still a prick, Alec.

You both watch me wrapping my robe around my body.

I go to the drawer by the sink and pull out a couple of cable ties: thick, wide, strong.

I place them upon the space on the table my arse has just vacated before turning towards the bedroom.

_Sort it out. And don’t fucking break anything._

* * *

I watch him retreat. Brutal bastard.

But I suppose that’s why I keep coming back…

I feign submission, but Bond is no fool. The strength of the armlock has not relaxed. Still. I would not be me if I did not at least try and resist.

I use his hold to my advantage, lifting both feet off the ground and leveraging my bodyweight to throw him off balance.

A hazy state is my only excuse for underestimating him.

He pivots into the move, crashing me face down into the floor.

I can add disinfectant to the flavours on my tongue.

“Be thankful I’m your friend and like you so much.”

His foot is flat between my shoulder blades, pinning me to the floor. I try to push up but his fist connects with my jaw and the room spins.

“If this is how you treat your friends…”

“Imagine the good time I show my enemies.”

He secures one cable tie around my ankles, the other around my wrists, making sure they are tight enough to break skin should I decide to struggle.

I am filled with self-loathing for the arousal I feel as he drags me to the bedroom.

You are spread across the bed, robe falling open. You do not acknowledge my presence, continuing to stare out the window while James secures me to an armchair in the corner of the room.

My cock is still free from my combats, so hard it’s almost purple. The sight of you in your semi-debauched state does little to relieve the pressure.

“Going to force me to watch, are you?”

I direct my question to the bed, still ignored, when James answers, “that would be too kind…” while dropping the blindfold over my eyes.

“You must be fucking joking.”

_Ublyudki._

“Your turn, Quartermaster…”

I clench my fists in frustration. “You’re a pair of bastards.”

My voice cracks, knowing that I’m being denied the sight of our Quartermaster taking you over and over, a pleasure even I’ve never taken despite our years of friendship.

 _Torture_.

I can hear the mattress groan rhythmically and I groan in empathy through gritted teeth. I can’t even touch myself.

James is moaning softly.

“You brought this on yourself, Trevelyan,” each word a reprimand from those plush lips, obviously punctuated by a thrust of your hips into James.

It’s the longest 4 minutes of my life.

* * *

_What the…_

The bedroom is dark, the bed empty, made, the curtains drawn.

That wasn’t four minutes. More like four fucking hours. The cable ties and blindfold are gone.

I hear the front door open and close, then laughter.

I feel endlessly calm. A submarine floating silently in the depths.

The bedroom door opens and I look up to see my Quartermaster, dressed to kill.

“Well hello sleeping beauty. Rested are we?”

“What did you do?” I growl at him, but it’s not serious. I feel… so much better.

“James took me to dinner while you had a little nap.”

* * *

I knew a little sedative would take the edge off, Alec of course blissfully unaware of the slim needle sliding into the juncture of neck and shoulder as James slipped on the blindfold.

He’s trying to hide his expression of irritation at been gotten the better of but we both know…

I feel James’ presence behind me, his hands slide round the front of my waist and he rests his chin on my shoulder.

“How is our unexpected guest?”

I smile, knowing what he’s thinking. We talked extensively about it over dinner. “Oh I think he’s learned his lesson, James…”

* * *

_OhYessss……_

You  _have_  learned your lesson.

**Mmmm. Maybe it isn’t such a bad thing to disobey the Quartermaster on occasion, if this is where that path leads.**

_Slender pal'tsy dancing across my chest, calloused Ruki exploring my thighs._

The way you kiss makes me want to code my arse to respond only to your palm-print. Though James might have something to say about that.

**It’s a good thing he’s my friend and I trust him. Because the way Q’s looking at him…**

_I’ve learned my lesson. I can only hope for more._

 


End file.
